Shadows
by Mist Mystic
Summary: Dean Thomas contemplates the fragility of life and the pervasiveness of fear. Set after Deathly Hallows.


**Author's Note:** I have become obsessed with Doctor Who on Netflix, but I found a little time to write anyway. :) Yay!**  
**A character I have always loved is Dean Thomas. He is woefully underdeveloped, although he has a most interesting history. Dean grows up believing he is Muggleborn, when really he is a half-blood; this misconception puts him on the run in The Deathly Hallows and facilitates his ending up in the Malfoy dungeons as a prisoner of war. I think this year of being constantly on the run and in fear would have affected Dean greatly, especially at the Final Battle when he went to fight without a wand. A relative of mine was a POW in Vietnam, and he has PTSD.  
Dean is awesome, but he is not superhuman. He would have been somehow affected by his experiences, especially the violent capture by Snatchers. As Dean is not mentioned after the war, but not included in the casualties, I am assuming he survived and stayed under the radar. I am taking creative leeway by having Dean retreat some back into the Muggle world, and he has a bit of PTSD.  
This is written in a monologue format, with Dean pontificating a bit. I'm not quite sure all is well in his upstairs.  
Anything you recognize I do not own.

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Shadows

_(Dean Thomas is slouched in a chair, holding the _Daily Prophet_, contemplating life. He is preoccupied after reading the obituaries in the newspaper.)_

Dean: Fear is a strange emotion. It rarely makes sense─ it's irrational. Fear causes me severe mental distress. I never know when something is going to jump up and bite me. It could be when I am walking down the hallway or when I open my closet door. After living in a constant state of fear and waiting, it has turned into a habit.

It has an ethereal quality. I see it out of the corner of my eye─ the shadowy movement─ and it hides when I turn my head. We could play hide-and-seek forever. _(pauses)_ Does it hurt? That is the question… _(runs hand through hair in distraction)_ I'm sure it does sometimes. The suddenness is the worst part. I expect it, I always expect it, but I lose my concentration. An interesting thought could captivate me and then it would be over. The fear… mutates when it multiplies. _(pulls at pant leg)_ "Dean, are you okay?" No. I'm not. That question makes me hate whispers. That sore on your leg looks painful, they say. Of course it does, its a spell-wound, incurable, I'm told. Not much I can do...

I didn't sleep well last night and when I woke up my throat felt scratchy. Nobody cares about pain unless it's theirs. Or they care in that macabre way, like when they see a car wreck. Traffic is terrible then, everyone slows to crane their necks. People like tragedy that doesn't involve them. _(shakes his head)_ I watched a football game the other day, West Ham. One of the players passed the ball to his teammate, who wasn't paying attention, and the ball smacked him in the face. Then an opposing player creamed him! _(he taps his foot repeatedly, knee bouncing)_ He just collapsed, legs buckled, slumped on the ground. I had to smother my laugh when he didn't get up─ I get stupid when I'm scared sometimes.

I suppose it's PTSD or something left over from the war. Luna says the shadows might be relatives of the Heliopaths. Perhaps they are Umgubular Slashkilters, or perhaps I'm as crazy as she is. The shadows eat that up; it keeps them sated. When the kid didn't get up, his leg twitched. _(demonstrates)_ Like that. Some people say it is hypochondria─ my phobia.

Don't laugh; I'm seriously ill. The shadows know, they can sense sickness, it calls to them. They had to carry that West Ham kid off the field on a stretcher. An ambulance came; he was carted away. Shadows converged on the car. I couldn't pay attention after that. _(raises voice)_ Waiting─ they were waiting. We're all waiting, we're all dying. Sylvia Plath sends the message; we're all dying. A sore throat? A car crash? A bad spell? It all leads to the same thing. Drink some hot tea, some pumpkin juice, don't think about it. When the brakes lock up there's really nothing you can do. A driver fell asleep and smashed the ambulance; it was in the news, lead story. The vehicles were tangled together and engulfed in flames.

In that sort of an accident there are really three impacts. The first is the one most people think of: when the two vehicles, or forces, whatever, collide. The second impact is when a body is thrust against the seatbelt they are hopefully wearing, or crashing through the windshield. The body smashed against something in the vehicle. The third is the most dangerous. The body's internal organs are slammed around, which could cause massive internal damage. In the news report it was beautiful, elegant; reality is almost always wrong. I have reasons for not driving, although a broom has its dangers as well. There is a funeral for that high school boy this Thursday. All because he got distracted.

_(thinks for a moment)_ The shadows go hunting. They find the dying, the near dying, and they wait. It's worse than the needle in a haystack; you don't know what the needle is and it might not even be in the haystack. _(shrugs) _Even if you're prepared, expecting it, you can be taken by surprise. Look at these people. _(gestures with newspaper, opens to page and starts scanning the obituaries)_ This woman, Susan Kim, she was my age, still young. It can be anyone. This one's a kid! Jeez. _(tosses the paper away)_ It's all chance. Just random chance. Flip a coin. Heads you live; tails you die. Chaos. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. On a long enough time-line the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

My next door neighbor's little boy died of cancer a few years ago. The death itself wasn't sudden but the diagnosis was a shock. Eight months later the parents split up. There's a sad story. Death destroys. _(stands up; paces, wringing hands)_ Time of Death: 6:57 pm. The best offense is a good defense; when you're fighting the reaper the cliché holds true.

Moody always touted 'Constant vigilance.' He was right─ stay aware and cognizant, don't let them sneak up and grab you. It rarely turns out well. _(abrupt shift)_ Constant vigilance. I wash my hands after touching anything; I have disinfectant wipes and antibacterial soaps in every bathroom. _Scourgify_ is the only spell I use anymore..._(as if convincing himself) _If I can avoid the shadows it will be okay.


End file.
